


The Silent Treatment

by bethonie (Formula_Tea)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Formula_Tea/pseuds/bethonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had been going on for a week now. Raffaela said he would only last a day, but that had only made the five year old more determined to punish his father for the absolute horribleness he had suffered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silent Treatment

“What flavour ice cream do you want?”

Silence. The man behind the counter at the ice cream shop looked impatiently at the sulking child, but Felipinho didn’t care.

“Come on.”

“I told you bribing him wasn’t going to work,” Raffaela said.

“You can have two if you want,” Felipe said, hopefully.

He might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all it was worth.

“Sir?”

Felipe sighed and ordered his son a generic ice cream, which Felipinho would probably moan about if he wasn’t giving Felipe the extreme silent treatment. This had been going on for a week now. Raffaela said he would only last a day, but that had only made the five year old more determined to punish his father for the absolute horribleness he had suffered.

Felipe had tried explaining that he didn’t know the footballer was going to be there. He had tried pinning the blame on ‘Tio Wob’ but that hadn’t worked either. He was running out of ideas (short of flying them all out to Spain so Felipinho could have lunch with Neymar, as he’d told his mother he wanted) and it didn’t look like bribing him with ice cream was going to be a way out either.

“He won’t last much longer,” Raffaela promised, watching Felipinho wander ahead of them with his less than satisfactory ice cream.

“Has lasted the whole week,” Felipe muttered. He’d seen this coming, of course, but he hadn’t thought it was worth more than a signed football and ice cream. Apparently he’d under estimated Felipinho’s pain.

“He’s probably forgotten what he’s angry about,” Raffaela said.

“I doubt it,” Felipe called. “Felipinho!”

The five year old didn’t even turn around, stopping in case this was about being dangerous or something but he wasn’t _really_ listening.

“Ask him why he’s angry,” Felipe said.

“Honey, why are you upset?” Raffaela asked.

Felipinho turned round at the sound of his mother’s voice and that was proof enough to Felipe. “Papa got to meet Neymar and he didn’t even tell me.”

“See?”

Raffaela sighed. If they didn’t get this sorted out she was going to have two sulking children on her plate.

 

“Felipinho! You have a letter.”

Felipinho looked up from his jigsaw, confused, then turned suspiciously to his father, even though it was Raffaela who had called.

“Here,” she said coming into the living room and handing Felipinho an envelope.

“A letter?” he asked, confused. When he turned it over it was clearly his name written on the envelope in very clear handwriting.

“Are you going to open it?” Raffaela asked.

“I thought only grown ups got letters.”

“This one must be special,” Raffaela said, knowingly.

Carefully, because the letter _must_ have been special, Felipinho opened the letter.

“What does it say?” Raffaela asked.

“Read it?” Felipinho asked, offering the letter to his mother. “Please?”

“I’m a little busy, why don’t you ask Papa?” Raffaela suggested.

Felipe frowned, confused, no idea what she was doing this time.

Felipinho looked suspiciously between his parents, also trying to figure out what was going on. He didn’t _want_ to ask Papa because he was the most horriblest man on the planet ever, but if the letter _was_ important.

Felipinho thrust his letter towards Felipe. Felipe took it carefully, moving over so Felipinho could sit beside him.

“Alright then,” Felipe said. “It says ‘To Felipinho, I was very sad that you were not in Spain last week. I was really looking forward to seeing you because I know you are a big fan. I would really like to come to your house but I’m too busy with football and things so I can’t. I hope you are well and watching all the matches on the TV. If you keep practicing maybe you’ll have a match on the TV one day too. Hopefully I will get to meet you soon. From Neymar.”

Felipinho looked down at the letter even though he didn’t know what most of the words said, then a grin crept onto his face and he snatched the letter from his father.

“Mama!” he cried, running after Raffaela, who was pretending to be busy in the kitchen. “Mama, Neymar wrote me a letter!”

When Felipe followed him into the kitchen, he was waving the page of his mother’s handwriting at her.

“Really?” she asked, in mock surprise.

“Yep,” Felipinho said, proudly. “But… how did he knew I’m a fan.”

“Papa must have told him,” Raffaela said.

“Did you?” Felipinho asked, looking up at Felipe, his vow of never ever speaking to his father again forgotten because _he has a letter from Neymar_.

“Yeah. We talked about you lots and lots,” Felipe said, before mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Raffaela.

 


End file.
